


Well Past the Middle of It

by OfALaurel



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-03
Updated: 2011-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:56:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfALaurel/pseuds/OfALaurel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of 1x24, Danny calls in a cavalry to break Steve out of jail, Steve thinks he has missed his chance, and they both need more rescuing than they realize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Past the Middle of It

It is late at night when he finally returns to his poor excuse of an apartment, made to look even more destitute in the wan moonlight coming through the windows he had forgotten to shutter in the day. He stands in the doorway for a few long minutes, bracketed on both ends by the sultry warmth of the Hawaiian night, and feels the perspiration collect in the hollow of his throat. The bed is still unmade, of course, rumpled and creased in a manner it hasn't been for ages, and he finds himself unable – or unwilling – to look in its direction. He feels scattered on this night, alone in the quiet of his home, thinking the thoughts that loosen the thin hold he has over his emotions, and unstitches the blanket moratorium he has personally declared on the blind panic heavy in his chest. Steve is in custody for the alleged murder of the Governor, and Danny's head pounds in so many different ways that it is a cacophony of rushing blood in his ears.

He moves into the apartment, and nudges the door shut. In the relative dark, broken in places by silvers of moonlight, he finds his bureau table, and his right hand reaches for his gun, his badge, and his phone in practiced motions. It takes him a while to notice that the flickering red dot that announces missed calls and unread messages, and Rachel's crisp voice tells him what he already knows but doesn't entirely want to hear, and he thinks _fuck it all_ , pushes his gun back into its holster, and slams out of the apartment.

Steve's driveway is dark when he pulls up fifteen minutes later, the house looming and still in the background. He sits in the Camaro for a few seconds, staring blindly at the sight before him, and his hands clench imperceptibly on the steering wheel, his knuckles flashing white in the dim. When he gets out of the car, he immediately notices two things – the front door hangs ajar, well-oiled enough not to creak or sway in the night breeze, and the house alarm panel is illuminated a cheerful green. He draws his gun and carefully flips the security off as he rounds the outside of the door, and then, his back a tense line, he steps into the waiting gloom of Steve's vacated home.

He doesn't manage to even get as far as Steve's couch when he is tackled firmly onto the ground, his gun skittering across the wooden floor and away from him. He fights back instinctively, throwing his weight behind his movements as he tries to roll himself upright, and lodges a knee in the vicinity of his assailant's kidney. His brain processes the familiar grunt even through the unrepentant rush of adrenaline through his body, and he manages to yell "Kono!" before a fist makes fleeting contact with the corner of his mouth. He tastes blood even as his company pauses in her attacks, and Kono's whisper of "Danny?" is met with his understandably terse demand for her to remove herself bodily from his person.

Kono's face is a picture of polite contrition when the lights finally come on in the room, and he pokes at the welt already blooming by his lower lip as he gets to his feet, grumbling all the time about trigger happy rookies.

"Sorry, Danny," she offers, her fingers still resting on the light switch, and Danny sees her check out the bruise she's given him, and there is something not unlike a self-satisfied gleam in her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah", he grouses, and goes after his errant gun. "You have a great right hook, I'll give you that. At least tell me the beat-down I gave you hurt a little too."

"A little, brah," Kono grins, but her smile is a little shy of brittle, and Danny comes back to himself quickly. He walks – okay, _limps_ – into the kitchen and makes a beeline for the refrigerator and for ice, gesturing for Kono to follow him. Once he's grabbed Steve's cold compress from the freezer, he settles into a chair, and watches Kono as she pulls herself up onto the kitchen counter.

"So, not that I don't appreciate a good hand-to-hand combat every now and then, but what are you doing here, in the dark?"

"The same thing as you, probably," Kono shrugs, and okay, fine, Danny has to concede she has a point.

"But lurking in the dark like the boogeyman under a bed?" he presses, because hey, she had taken nearly 10 years off his life by leaping out on him, and the gun could have misfired when it hit the ground, or he could have shot – _no_ , he isn't going to pursue that line of thought, not tonight, when everything in his life has already made a mess of itself.

Kono quirks a small smile at his choice of allusion, but he chooses not to deign that smirk with a response, and waves imperiously for her to continue.

"The house wasn't secured when I got here," and Danny silently resolves to yell at Steve more for his shoddy attention to his own personal safety, "so I figured I would just pick the lock and wait inside, in case Boss has more enemies that we don't know about, and they show up for seconds."

The set of Kono's jaw tells Danny in graphic detail how those seconds will be served to the multitude of Steve's homicidal admirers, and right now, in the mood that he is in, Danny just wants to help Kono dish out those beatings.

He nods, and that silent gesture is meant to be acknowledgement, and acquiescence, and everything they can't just give voice to yet, and Kono holds his eye steadily, and nods back. They fall into a temporary silence, and Danny presses the cold compress to his fat lip, and is somewhat unsurprised by Kono's next announcement.

"We need to get Steve out, Danny, though I don't know how, because those assholes at HPD took my badge and my gun, and I am on probation for the foreseeable future."

"Woah, back up – just back up for a second, there. Took your badge and your gun? Probation? What –"

He throws up his hands in resignation at Kono's hard stare, and mutters, "forget it, I don't want to know, unless you are in trouble," and then his voice raises an octave, and his words trip over the concern and worry in their way, because fuck, he isn't losing another of his – team, ohana, fuck it, he doesn't know what they are, but they are _something_ , and something unbearably _dear_ – to the slammers.

"Kono – look, babe, are you in trouble?"

Another shrug, but Kono starts to look weary, and Danny really wants to take a few punches at this terrible hand that some mercurial god somewhere has dealt him with over the last 12 hours.

"We'll get you out of it, damn it," he says finally, getting to his feet. "You and Steve both," he vows, and Kono must have seen something in his face, or have recognized herself in the burn of Danny's eyes and the clench of his jaw, because she smiles, and loops her arms briefly around Danny's shoulders for a fleeting hug as she leaves the kitchen. Danny allows her the headstart, the warmth of her body still a scorch against his skin, and then he swallows against the stone in his throat, and follows her.

Time to get to work.

* * *

The first thing that he does is to set Kono to the task of hacking into Steve's call logs, and to pull up the entirety of the calls he has made, received, and missed. He does not offer Kono an explanation, partly because he cannot be certain it would not just be dead ends awaiting them in this plan of his, and partly because he feels he should be ashamed (he isn't though) of the unapologetic manipulation he is willing to attempt on Steve's behalf. For a moment, he thinks Kono would cry mutiny and refuse his admittedly bossy commands, or at least try to wallop the truth out of him, but she just sighs and heads into Steve's father's office to acquire Steve's laptop.

After Kono disappears from view, he steels himself for the inevitable and climbs the stairs to Steve's bedroom. He jumps straight into the task, knowing that any hesitation at all would only amplify the wrongness of his actions to a deafening volume. He checks everywhere for a place that Steve might have stored his personal contacts, for short of breaking into HPD to steal Steve's phone from the processing room, this plan of ransacking and invading Steve's privacy is the best Danny has got at the moment, and if he's taken anything from his ma, it is the truth of beggars not having the luxury of being choosers. He limits his search to obvious places, because even if Steve is as weird as the day is long, there is still no possible way he would have hidden his address book in secret alcoves or, god forbid, in his underwear drawer.

Danny isn't even the least bit surprised when his search yields no results. Given all the professional secrets Steve has kept for the majority of his life, it only makes sense that his personal life would be locked equally securely away in his head and heart. He lingers a little longer than is necessary in the quiet room, and something about Steve's carefully made bed, with the top sheet tucked securely around the corners and the thin comforter a perfectly folded splash of blue across the foot, drags against his chest, and catches firmly in the secret cavities that he wishes he did not possess. The room smells _clean_ , a little of salt fresh from the ocean and a little _green_ , a herbaceous tinge that floats and sits strangely right with the Steve that he knows. Danny catches himself thinking that the room, the _house_ , seems wrong without its owner, sad somehow, and wants to slap himself for being a sentimental fool.

He is about to leave the room when he catches sight of the book on the table by Steve's bed, and his laughter, when it arrives, surprises him in its force and genuine glee. He picks up _A Question of Torture: CIA Interrogation, from the Cold War to the War on Terror_ , and thumbs a few pages. It is a careworn book, the clear victim of numerous rereads, and he is amused by how much it pleases him to realize just how well he knows Steve. For all its age and loosened binding, the pages are meticulously free of dog ears, and Danny skips a few chapters to find Steve's makeshift bookmark, and then suddenly, it is almost as though his world has been reduced to this one moment. He slides a thumb to keep the page, and brings the photograph that was masquerading as a bookmark closer to himself, and stares into his own laughing face.

In the photograph, Steve is draped bonelessly in the chair next to him, his forearm in the cast, and his expression entirely guileless as he looks at Danny. Danny remembers that night instantly – it had been one of the Hilton's "Hawaiian Special Fridays", which is naturally synonymous with tourists and tourist traps, and servers like Steve's enamoured waitress had made the rounds to snap Polaroid pictures of their happily drunk customers for a fee. He had no idea Steve had purchased that picture of them, and no idea _when_ exactly he must have sneaked off for that express purpose. He runs his fingers along the edges of the photograph, and tries not to look at the expression in Steve's eyes, or the way his own body, loose with laughter, lists helplessly towards Steve, his dark blue tie all but unknotted against his throat. He slides the picture back between the pages, and it fits as though it has never vacated its hold, and Danny wishes his heart could do exactly that, because the swell of something terrifying in his chest renders it a stranger and a traitor, fixated on the thoughts that he has spent the last year of their partnership evading.

He meets Kono on the staircase on his way down, and she hands him Steve's call log pulled from his cell and landline, and he is so grateful for both the distraction and the much needed breakthrough that he could hug her. He settles for miming taking his hat off to her superior hacking abilities instead, and quickly scans through the sheet. As he had expected, Steve's communicates with but a handful of people, and after removing himself (and he ignores the fact that his number shows up with startling frequency on both the incoming _and_ outgoing columns), Kono, Chin, and a number he recognizes from the Governor's office, he is left with only a handful of contacts. Kono points out an LA area code over his shoulder, and they identify it as Mary's, and after that, all it takes is some simple sleuthing to get at Lt. Rollins' number.

Danny searches his memory for the last time Steve had the languid easiness of the recently laid, and remembers a faux tsunami warning, and triumphantly locates two calls from the same source made two days' prior to that incident. Kono looks askance at him when he pulls out his cell to punch in the number, and he makes the gesture for her to wait, not exactly sure how to explain his familiarity with one Steven McGarrett's sex face.

The call connects after a few breath-bating rings, and a female voice, echoing slightly on her end, asks "Yes?"

Danny swallows, and then proceeds to greet Lt. Catherine Rollins of the US Navy, his own voice steady as he outlines the events of the last night. Beside him, Kono's eyes widen in understanding, but she says nothing to interrupt. Catherine allows him his court, and when he is done, she mysteriously asks him to please call two different numbers, and recites them calmly and slowly. Danny dutifully repeats after her, a little overwhelmed by her composure, and Kono keys the contacts into her own cell.

"Detective Williams," Catherine says now in his ear, managing to sound confiding and aloof both at once, "I will be in port in approximately sixteen hours, and I think it would be preferable if we spoke in person, or at least over a more secure line. Could you call the numbers I've given you and look for Tristan Black and James Riley respectively? Tell these gentlemen what you've informed me, and let them know I've sent you, and they would know how best to proceed."

"And should I use a codename, say "Smooth Dog", for our friend in need?" he asks before his brain could catch up with his mouth, and then winces.

There is a pause, and then Catherine laughs, throaty and warm, and what do you know, she suddenly seems that much less terrifying and likely to kill a man with just her gaze alone.

"No, "Steve" would suffice, although you should remind us to share the history of that unfortunate moniker with you."

There is a definite smirk in Catherine's words, and yes, Danny understands, with sudden clarity, what Steve must see in her.

"I'll hold you to that, Lt. Rollins," he vows before they ring off, and sits in what resembles a daze for a few seconds before Kono, in a tone too grimly gleeful for Danny's peace of mind, makes a frankly frightening assessment.

"Well, that is our cavalry taken care of."

* * *

Both James Riley and Tristan Black turn out to be ranked officers in the U.S Navy, and Danny is willing to bet, Steve's SEAL buddies-in-arms. Riley is a good fifteen years older than Steve, and a quick research reveals him to be a Vice Admiral, which pleases Kono's bloodthirsty (and seriously, Danny cannot repeat enough that they – two officers of the law – are _not_ going to break Steve out of jail) inclinations. Black is a Captain, and Danny guesses that might have been Steve's current assignation had he not taken the sojourn into 5-0 and reserves. Both Riley and Black's files are locked tighter behind red tape and authority validations than his ma's lasagne recipe, passed down for generations. Steve's old friends are just about as cool as Catherine on the phone, and while Black agrees to fly out on the next available flight to Hawaii, Riley promises help, but is vague enough about the nature of this aid that Danny wonders if he has brought down a war against the legal system in Hawaii in his attempt to get Steve out. And thus, it is with no surprise that Danny answers the call from Chin the morning that both Catherine and Captain Black are expected on the island.

Chin's voice comes across hushed and secretive over the line, and somehow, Danny doesn't think it is the product of poor receptivity.

"What have you guys done, brah?"

There are only a few times in their year old acquaintance that Danny has seen the unflappable Chin-Ho Kelly well, _flapped_ , and he adds this moment to the skimpy list.

"What – What do you mean?" he asks instead of answers, for fuck his life and all the Naval Rambos in it, he honestly has no idea what mayhem is afoot even if he's started this plan in motion.

"Apparently a Vice-Admiral of the US Navy is coming down hard on the Police Chief and all his equals to release Lt. Commander Steve McGarrett from civilian jail and into the proper custody of his governing body."

"Is that – legal?" he asks, because for all of the official jargon, the deal that Vice-Admiral Riley has wrangled seems rather shady to him, and aren't the Special Ops supposed to fight crime, or at the very least, pretend to do so?

"They are not trying to break Steve out of jail, Danny, or even to acquit him of the –" and here Chin hesitates, and Danny finds he doesn't blame him the slightest, "incident he's been accused of. The Vice-Admiral merely wants to negotiate where Steve is held while the investigation is carried out. He has sent a Captain –"

"Let me guess, Captain Tristan Black?" Danny interrupts, and of course those guys would hijack his plans for their own modifications.

"Brah –" Chin sounds strangled, "how deep are you in with this?"

Danny just hums non-committally, because Chin is already in a difficult enough position without him adding the burden of his confession to the bonfire, and also because Chin cannot possibly expect him to not do anything to help Steve. As far as Steve is concerned, Danny is unfortunately deep, very deep like drowning, and he has long resigned himself to the fact.

Chin sighs at his silence, but he continues with his explanation regardless.

"Cpt. Black is here on orders to serve as Steve's custodian, and they are negotiating Steve's transfer to a new holding place right now."

"Where?"

Danny knows his question is terse and possibly rude, but _this_ is a development he has not foreseen, and if the Navy ships Steve out on a submarine somewhere, miles under the fucking ocean, he'll – he'll do something he probably won't even have the time to regret. Fuck, he'll sic Kono on them, and Jenna too, with all her earnest attempts at ass kicking. It would be like trying to beat a tag team of the Tasmanian Devil and the Energizer Bunny.

"Back to his house, Danny – I thought you –"

Chin sounds genuinely surprised now, and Danny immediately leaps for his car keys, and runs for his front door.

"Chin," he cuts in, "I'll speak to you later, man, alright? And thanks – thanks for the heads up, bro."

He is about to hang up when Chin calls his name, low and urgent and _meaningful_.

"You know what this means, right? Steve is the only witness that night, and we need evidence to clear him."

Danny nods, and then remembers that Chin can hardly see him.

"Yeah," he adds, because the second Chin had mentioned Steve's house arrest, he had understood the significance of the help they've received, and it clearly has not escaped Chin either. It would be that much easier to get information from Steve without prison surveillance, and fuck, to be honest, Danny is just relieved that Steve would no longer be behind the same walls where he's put too many assholes, Hesse included. And if the thought of Steve alone and friendless in that prison causes Danny's heart to seize, well, only he needs to know.

* * *

On his way to Steve's, Danny texts Kono, and as an afterthought, Jenna as well. His text message comes out a little wonky because of his fat fingers and the attention he pays to the road, because while he might be helpless to resist Steve in most aspects, he isn't going to pick up on his driving skills.

There is a beautiful woman sitting on the lanai when he pulls up to Steve's place. She turns around at the sound of his approaching footsteps, and smiles at him. Her smile is generous, but the set of her shoulders tells Danny of her wariness, and she is exactly like Steve, tensely reined movement in a still body. He stops a few paces away, and offers a smile and a hand of his own.

"Lt. Rollins."

"Catherine," she corrects, and takes his hand. Her shake, naturally, is firm, and with a lurch, Danny realizes that she is even more ridiculously good-looking up close.

"Danny Williams," he says in want of a better topic, and she nods, her gaze oddly appraising.

"Steve speaks a lot of you," she confides, and what can Danny do but flush stupidly scarlet, and try to make light of his irrationally pounding heart?

"Of my _haole_ ways, no doubt," he jokes, "that man has an unhealthy obsession with my ties."

He only catches on to the suggestiveness of his claim when Catherine grins at him a little knowingly, which looks disturbingly like Kono's best expression of smugness. He coughs, and hopes to hell he isn't blushing, but is saved from the need to answer by Kono and Jenna's arrival. The women gravitate to each other immediately, and Danny can only watch, bemused, as Jenna quickly develops what looks suspiciously like a crush on the Naval Intelligence officer. He mumbles some excuse about paperwork or Longboards when they begin discussing satellite positioning and remote imaging, and is waved dismissively away, and hey, he has not felt this interesting to the female specimen since his victimhood at the hands of his sisters.

He retreats gratefully into the house alone, and that is why Danny is the first person Steve McGarrett sees when he walks into his home, accompanied by an old friend he has not expected to be reunited with under such circumstances, and by a beeping tracking anklet that has already begun to loathe.

* * *

Danny's gaze settles on Steve first – not Cpt. Black at his back, not the two HPD officers uncomfortable at the door, and not the insistent chirp of Steve's new accessory. Steve looks a shadow of himself, or an extreme incarnation of his SEAL persona, with his dark eyes carefully shuttered, his jaw a defiant slope, and his back a rigid line. For a moment, Danny is thrown for a loop by this man who is suddenly like a stranger, whose eyes land on him only to shift away without acknowledgement, and whose lips are fiercely unsmiling.

It takes Danny awhile to register the rest of the room, and to have his world fall back onto their correct axis. Cpt. Black, he realizes with a jolt, had been addressing him while he's been staring at Steve, and he quickly tunes back in time to shake the man's hand.

Tristan Black, like his Naval siblings, is annoyingly attractive, even with hair cut close to the scalp to mark his status as being on active duty. What strikes Danny immediately is his careful enunciation, his words crisp and smooth in a manner that reminds Danny of Rachel and her brothers, but Cpt. Black's accent is coloured with something more implacably exotic, and with a start, Danny pins it as the sibilance of the French language, its vowels luscious but sharply distinct. The man looks as all-American as they come, tan with good teeth and great skin, and Danny wonders at the touch of Europe in his register. He tries to not let his fascination show on his face, because he does not doubt that the Captain's accent may be a product of an extended stay in confidential parts of Europe while on confidential missions.

He watches as Black reassures the HPD officers of his willingness and ability to comply with the very letter of the Hawaiian law in his capacity as Steve's jailer, and is surprised by the man's genuine friendliness, obvious even with his unmistakeable military training and mannerisms. Steve is leaning against the wall to his father's study as the proceedings unfold, and for all the care and attention that he shows on his face, the HPD officers might as well not be explaining the tracker around _his_ ankle, or the distance _he's_ allowed to go from the house, or the dire consequences awaiting _him_ should he flout these stipulations.

Danny sneaks a few covert glances at Steve as soon as the officers leave, and witnesses him getting pulled into fierce hugs by their trio of terrifying ladies. Steve's impassive mask slips for the first time when Kono punches him in the shoulder as an expression of her affection, and even from across the room, Danny can hear the wretched sincerity in the apology that he makes. Kono merely waves away his guilt, even if her beam is a little more watery than usual. Danny tries his damnest not to look when Catherine steps up to Steve, but he sees enough anyway to realize how perfectly she fits folded into Steve's chest, with Steve's right hand curled loose around her hip.

Cpt. Black breaks up Steve's impromptu homecoming party when he returns from seeing their law enforcement guests out, and in a gesture that speaks of the long history between the two men, stares Steve squarely in the eye and reads him his riot act. Steve, Danny notices, takes significantly more interest in Black's rendition of the restrictions placed upon him, and Danny isn't certain if this is because of some inherent acknowledgement of chain of command, or if it is the product of the affection Steve has for his old friend. Regardless, he is thankful, because he does not wish to look at Steve with the window of a patrol car separating them ever again.

Jenna, in characteristic disarming honesty, punctuates the end of Cpt. Black's speech by wrinkling her nose at Steve, and informing him rather delicately of his need for a shower. The whole room goes still at her observation, and she flushes scarlet when she feels the weight of all eyes upon her, but then Catherine laughs, and the Captain joins in. Danny has to turn away to smother a snicker, but judging from Kono's grinning face, he probably isn't entirely successful. Steve's face relaxes just that little bit at the unexpected and unintended comic relief, but when he catches Danny's eye, something like hurt steals into his expression, and Danny only has scant seconds to think _what the fuck?_ before Steve is up the stairs and on the way to his supposed shower.

As soon as Steve disappears from view, both Catherine and Cpt. Black leave for the privacy of the lanai to make what Danny suspects are top secret phone calls. Jenna offers to drive Kono back to 5-0 HQ to pick up all their files on Wo Fat, and possibly to make a few technical acquisitions as well. Danny opens his mouth to remind them that the HQ has been locked up for the duration of the investigation into the Governor's death, but sees the steely looks in both their eyes, and shuts it. He asks them if they want him to come along instead, and when they say no, tells them to pick up the box of reproduced photos of clues from his father's toolbox that Steve has taken to hiding in his office since the break-in at his place. Jenna gives him a confused look, and Danny hears her unspoken _duh_ , and man, he thinks he is starting to like their new member very much. The two women leave then, and Danny is left in the quiet of Steve's once again empty living room. He doesn't know what exactly he should do, and he pulls out his cell, and thinks briefly of calling Rachel. After a pause, he puts his phone away – one painful task at a time, and right now, he has to get Steve exonerated first. He'll call Rachel tonight, he vows, after the girls return and after they've set up temporary office in Steve's home.

He finds himself in the kitchen and presiding over a skillet of omelettes. He had intended to grab a few Longboards, for himself and for the rest when they make their way back from their individual pursuits, but the sight of eggs and ham in Steve's fridge had caused his stomach to whine. He figures – no, he _knows_ – that Steve is unlikely to have eaten anything since last night, fuck, maybe even earlier, and that cements his decision to serve as temporary chef.

Steve is the first to return, and even though Danny doesn't hear his stealthy footfalls, he knows the moment Steve re-enters the kitchen. For a few minutes, he continues poking at his eggs, refusing to turn around, and waiting for Steve to speak. The asshole doesn't, and Danny's spine stiffens as the seconds tick by. He knows Steve is staring at him, because the hairs on his neck prickle, and because he _knows_ his partner too well. A lick of flame dances down his back when he imagines Steve's dark eyes on him, and he tries not to flinch, or to even think about it.

Finally, after a good five minutes of silence, he decides that enough is enough, and drops the spatula with an alarming bang into the sink. He glares at Steve when he spins around, folding his arms tight across his chest. He wants to shout, but Steve beats him to it, though his words, when they come, are hardly above an audible whisper.

"Why are you still here?"

For a moment, Danny is certain he must have misheard. He stares at Steve wordlessly, and cannot help the flinch that goes through him at the question. Steve looks as though Danny's involuntary recoil hurts him as much as it does Danny, and Danny wants to turn away, to be anywhere but here in Steve's kitchen, making him fucking ham and pineapple omelettes.

"I don't know if you've realized," he forces himself to say, "but we have a case, and that case is, oh, I don't know, your pending trial for first degree murder? You might have forgotten you have a team, but I sure as hell haven't."

Suddenly, he's angry, and the stupidly lost expression in Steve's eyes isn't helping his cause any.

"What the fuck is your problem, anyway? You've barely looked at me twice since you've walked in through that door," he gestures furiously over Steve's head, "and now you are giving me grief for wanting to do my work?"

Steve is silent, but he's doing that fucking thousand yards stare again, and what the hell, does he think Danny won't notice his hands balled into fists at his side, clenched so tightly his knuckles are blooded white?

"I am sorry if you disagree with my work ethics, Commander," he grits, so angry and stupidly _hurt_ that all that he wants to do is to hit back and not be sorry for it. "I am sorry if you are offended because I want to get my friend out of jail, because maybe our signals got crossed here, or maybe I am presumptuous, but I thought that's what we are – friends."

Out of the corner of his eye, Danny sees Catherine come through the sliding entrance to the lanai, sees her freeze, and then push Captain Black back where they've come.

Steve is still silent, and blindly, Danny reaches for the stove to turn the flame off, the omelettes probably already singed beyond taste. He rubs a hand across his eyes, and he's so tired he could – he could just leave. When he shoves past Steve, he almost expects the other man to throw a punch in his direction, which he does, but ironically not in the manner that Danny would have preferred.

"You are supposed to be on the plane back to New Jersey now, aren't you?"

Danny stops, shoulder to shoulder with Steve in the narrow doorway, and swallows. Steve's body is a blaze of warmth pressed lightly against his side, and Danny stumbles backwards to bring Steve's face back into sight again.

"How – how did you know?" he asks dumbly, which probably isn't the best response, judging from the way Steve goes from broken to blank in two seconds flat.

"HPD. I asked that you be my go-to officer for the daily check-ins, and they informed me that Detective Williams has put in a request for his transfer back to New Jersey with immediate effect."

Steve's voice is emotionless, and he's gone back to not looking at Danny, until suddenly he isn't. He rounds on Danny so quickly that Danny thinks he might get whiplash.

"Were you ever going to tell me? Or is it going to be like the situation with Rachel, and I'll be the last to find out?"

 _You've never given any indication you cared_ , Danny wants to say, but he knows as soon as he thinks the words that they would be unfair, and blatantly untrue.

"And when was I to find the opportunity to tell you, in between the case, the Governor's death, and your arrest?"

"That's not the fucking point, Danny!"

And there it is, Steve's "My Heart is Too Big for my Chest and I Don't Fucking Know What to Do with it" face, and Danny wishes he was wearing anger instead, fury to match his shouting. He would welcome anything but the brittle hurt on Steve's face, but worst of all is the resignation, the slump of his shoulders and the contrary steeling of his jaw that tells Danny that he is convincing himself that he had always known Danny would leave.

"Rachel's pregnant," he says hoarsely, and Steve's eyes snap to his, and how had Danny fallen for someone new without even knowing it until this ache in his chest, and this fucking burn in his throat?

Steve jolts, and then stills so completely that Danny is reminded of his training as a cadet, when budding law enforcers like himself were briefed on what to do in the event of cases gone wrong. Never agitate the wound is the first lesson – find some place safe and keep still. Steve looks as though he is hiding in the safety of his own skin, isolated behind the high walls of his impassivity.

"So when you said "for a while", you really meant _for a while_."

Danny thinks Steve might have intended for that to be a question, only that it sounds like a statement of fact to them both. Steve has become that unmoving and untouchable SEAL of their early acquaintance again, and now that Danny knows the warm, laughing man who arranges excursions with dolphins as gifts for his kid and lies barefacedly to the feds in defence of his brother, he feels the loss acutely.

"It was once, two months ago, alright? Matty – Matty had just ditched, and Stan was everywhere but here – Rach and I were both stupid and upset, and we have this history, and –" he trails off, because god, why does every word sound worse than the last?

"I love her," he says finally, forcing himself to look Steve in the face, "I think I always will. We had Grace together, and **–** " he swallows, "– Grace's younger brother or sister soon enough."

"I get it, Danny," Steve says, and he's far away, and disappearing right before Danny's eyes even if he hasn't shifted an inch at all.

"No – no, you don't," Danny returns forcefully, crowding Steve until he looks at him.

"I am not proud of what I've done, and fuck, I know Rachel is still married, which only makes me hate myself more. What Rachel and I did – it was convenient because it was familiar, and because – because it wasn't _this_ , alright?"

He gestures to the space between the both o f them, and hopes to hell Steve understands.

"This thing that we have, you and me, it scares the hell out of me. And it isn't because I don't want it, I _do_ ," he stresses, grabbing hold of Steve's wrist when he starts to pull away.

He quiets for a moment, and looks down, and Steve feels hot to the touch, his pulse so furious beneath his skin.

"I was a coward, because you make me crazy and so uncertain, and I should have done something about it instead of – the thing with Rachel – it was a stupid, unthinking mistake."

He doesn't say that he loves Rachel but he isn't in love with her, not anymore, because it falls so flat even in his head, and sounds painfully like an excuse, even if it isn't.

"Are you done?"

Steve's voice is hoarse, like dry kindling soon to burst into flame, and Danny releases his grasp, scorched. He nods mutely, and does not flinch when Steve stares at him. He only allows himself to think _fuck_ when Steve walks out of the house without another word, the silence deafening in his wake.

* * *

Danny does not return to the house the next day, nor the day after. His guests, now that his home is prison and office both, react to his absence with almost unflattering surprise. For the first few hours, Kono and Jenna look constantly to the front door, the distracted attention they pay to their files on the Governor and Wo Fat punctuated only by Kono's regular glances at her phone. Sometime after noon, and after his living room has been converted into a war chamber of sorts, replete with multiple computers hooked to television monitors, and the mountains of paperwork they've acquired on Wo Fat over the months, Kono starts to look at him accusingly. It doesn't take long for Jenna to catch on and to emulate her glowering looks of consternation, and Steve might bring himself to care if he doesn't already feel like hell.

By lunch an hour later, both the 5-0 women are making regular trips out to the lanai to hold angrily whispered conversations into their phones, and when these calls begin to involve badly smuggled files (Jenna) and blatant fact-checking against their paperwork (Kono), Steve groans. He confronts both women out by the surf, and Kono makes a point of ignoring him, folding her arms as she tells Danny "that's spelt with double _m_ s, and yeah, she was the Governor's go-to for public addresses and scandal management, yeah, on 1105 Maunakea Street". Steve has to shove his hands into his pockets to physically restrain himself from snatching Kono's cell from her hand. He settles for glaring out at the ocean while Kono finishes up the call and Jenna alternates between scuffing her trainers on the sand, and sneaking careful looks at him. When Kono is finally done, she spins on him and barks a brusque "what?", clearly spoiling for a fight.

He ignores her aggressiveness, and Jenna looks more than a little relieved.

"You can't send Danny out to speak to the suspects alone," he grits, because the thought of Danny out there, alone, kicking up a hornet's nest to get Wo Fat's attention, makes his stomach twist in knots.

"Danny insisted," Jenna contributes, matter-of-factly.

"Yes," Kono snaps, "especially since he's made to feel as though he should no longer come over."

Again, Steve ignores her jibe, although the mention of Danny's absence stings.

"It isn't safe, especially without m –" he starts to say _me_ , but catches himself, "without a partner to watch his back."

Kono just fixes him with her most withering stare.

"Kono, Danny has Grace, and he – he has Rachel again. Rachel's pregnant too, and the last thing their family needs is for Danny to be hurt in any way."

Kono and Jenna's startled raise of eyebrows gives away to poorly disguised looks of sympathy, and Steve looks away quickly.

"Steve," Jenna begins awkwardly, and then falls short. She pats his shoulder somewhat fumblingly, and had he really been so obvious in his affection for Danny?

"Danny is committed to proving your innocence," she tries again, "and not just because he's sworn by the law to do it."

"What Jenna means is that Danny cares for you," Kono adds, and Steve doesn't know if he's grateful or frustrated by her more graceful delivery.

"Just – just don't give him more addresses to follow up, please."

There must be something sharp, or pleading, in his voice, because both his teammates nod, and Kono promises to at least try, even if she "can't promise Danny will like the decision".

Steve is left alone on his beach when his companions are lured back into the house by the promise of takeaway, and he barely manages to steal ten minutes of peace with his tumultuous thoughts before new company finds him.

Tristan doesn't say a word when he reaches him, handing over a cup of tea instead. Steve accepts it, and then wrinkles his nose at the scent, nearly forgotten in their months apart, but no less heady.

"Chai tea," he says, and makes to return his cup.

"Don't be a plebeian," his friend replies just as easily, "thousands of years of tradition can't possibly be wrong."

"It still smells like medicated oil," Steve says, more out of form than anything else. Tristan had picked up that taste for odd tea on one of their missions to the border fringing Pakistan and India, and has since then tried, painfully unsuccessfully, to foist the same inclination on his team.

"Plebeian," he repeats, but the clap to Steve's shoulder belies his insult.

They drink their tea in silence, staring out into the water.

"Hey," he asks as the thought strikes him, "how far from the house am I allowed to go again?"

"Two hundred miles, which is oh, two finger-lengths out into the water?"

Steve curses under his breath, and then perks up again.

"Any restraints on depth?"

Tristan laughs, and then gestures vaguely skywards.

"The satellite has to be able to pick up on the signals, so the depth you probably have in mind would most likely get you arrested."

Steve groans, because isn't it just his luck to be denied his best distraction?

"So, boy trouble?"

There is nothing stealthy or subtle about the way Tristan springs the question, and Steve would roll his eyes if it hadn't struck so close to heart. Tristan isn't joking either, and does not look as though he needs any affirmation. With Don't Ask, Don't Tell firmly in play during Steve's years of service, he has never disclosed his bisexuality to the men and women he has served with. He never had the inclination to share as well, because even though he had placed his life willingly enough in the hands of his men during missions, his personal life was exactly that - personal and guarded. Tristan, though - they have often found themselves on the same teams with the same directives, given their complementing skill sets and experiences. The topic of his sexual preference - or non-preference, really - had come up during one of their extended ops in a too remote and too hostile Middle East nation, and oddly enough, Steve had not worried, not even for a heartbeat, that his slip of tongue would result in the end of his career. Tristan had been good for his honour, much as Steve had known from the beginning, and he soon turned over his personal life, and not just his safety, for his friend's safekeeping.

Nonetheless, he surprises himself by admitting now to his "boy trouble", and rewards Tristan with a look when the other man asks the pointless question of "Detective Williams?"

Tristan studies him with a focus that makes him want to shift, but he doesn't.

"Detective Williams contacted Cat, and then Riley and myself for help," he states, and when no bolt of understanding strikes Steve, looks exasperated and like he believes Steve to be woefully simple.

"He clearly cares for you, or he wouldn't have gone to those lengths to secure your rescue."

"Danny would have done the same had it been Kono, Chin, or even Jenna in trouble. It is just the kind of guy he is."

He knows he sounds stupidly fond and soft, and thus pays Tristan's small smirk no mind.

"Look, I am just saying the man's actions are loud, alright, and if you can't hear it, then civilian life must have dulled your senses more than it should be possible."

"He is in love with his ex– – with his wife. They are having another child together. I think that sequence of actions holler a bit louder than everything else, don't you?"

He doesn't know why, but he is furious with his friend for wanting to incite hope where there can be none, and if this is sympathy, then he wants no part of it. Danny had been graphically clear in his actions, and fuck, of course Danny still loves Rachel, he had been stupid to even think otherwise. And now that Danny can have his family back, there can be no reason strong enough, and no hold sticky enough, to stay his hurrying footsteps out of Hawaii.

"You didn't hear the part when he told you he's crazy for you, did you?"

Every trace of amusement, no matter how mild, had now fled Tristan's tone, and he looks somewhat sad, and regretful. Dimly, Steve acknowledges that his old teammate isn't even pretending to not have listened in on the conversation earlier in the kitchen, and he is too tired to give him hell for it. It is Tristan's duty after all to prevent both fight and flight, and to recognize their telltale symptoms, and Steve had honestly wanted to do both during the talk. Danny is leaving Hawaii, and he isn't going to begrudge him the happiness he deserves.

"Steve," Tristan presses, "you must have heard Detective Williams' admission – he _wants_ you, and he has said as much."

Steve shakes his head, and thinks _no_ , and out loud, he tells Tristan that it doesn't matter, because it won't come down to a choice between Rachel and himself, because he won't do that to Danny. And deep down, he knows that Danny has always already chosen, and Steve will make his peace with the fact.

"You need to learn to listen better, Steve."

He catches Tristan's quiet words when he turns back for the house, and he tries to pay it no mind, because Danny's words are still loud in his ears, and he can't hear anything for the pounding of his heart at the thought of the goodbyes that he will soon have to say. How then is he supposed to listen?

* * *

The week runs its length, and Danny continues to not make an appearance. After the third day, Steve begins to think that he might not even have the chance for goodbyes.

* * *

Nearly ten days later, and on a Tuesday like any other, Steve opens his front door to find himself with an armful of Grace Williams, with her mother on the doorstep behind her. He isn't sure what to say, so he says nothing, and hangs on to Gracie as she clings to him in ferocious joy, and looks up into Rachel's tired eyes. As soon as he is able, which is as soon as Grace spies Kono and can be convinced to relinquish her death grip on him in exchange for her company in seashell hunting, Steve asks after Danny, because why would Rachel and Grace be back on the island if Danny isn't in some way unwell?

"Daniel is fine, Commander," Rachel assures him, and it is with a lighter heart that he sets her cup of Earl Grey before her. They are seated at the kitchen table, and the house is mercifully empty with all his guests having taken tactfully to the lanai and the shore. Rachel curls her hands around her cup like a woman seeking warmth, and her fingers are restless, tracing the rim and skirting the handle, and Steve impulsively places his own hand over hers, and wordlessly offers her any comfort she might choose to take. She looks up at him and smiles, and looks that less shattered.

"Grace and I returned to Hawaii just last night, and Daniel does not know of it yet. I wished to speak first to you before I return Grace to her father at his apartment."

Steve believes himself to not have betrayed any emotion on his face, but it seems Rachel is quicker, or sharper, because she pauses, and then tells him quietly that Danny has not left the island for New Jersey.

"New Jersey is no longer the right place for any of us, it seems," she says, quietly still, folding her hands where they rest against the dark grain of the table.

"Daniel and I have tried to believe otherwise, but I think the time has come to be honest."

She pauses, and looks searchingly into her tea. When she fixes her gaze on him moments later, he sees the emotion in her eyes, dregs combed from unspoken depths.

"When I married Stan two years ago, I believed I was making the choice for myself, and I believed the same of my decision to move to Hawaii. I know now that it is not true, because what I saw in Stan was not him, which is unhappily unfair, but the fact that he isn't Daniel. Even after our divorce, I continued to make decisions based, in at least some minuscule way, on Daniel, and unknowingly ensured that he continues to do the same for me."

Rachel reaches across the table to press fleetingly against his hand, and it feels like an apology. He holds still, but meets her gaze as she asks of him silently.

"We have not made the best decisions for ourselves and for each other, Commander, which is a poor showing for people who claim to love one another. Daniel is faithful and so fiercely intent on doing the right thing by Grace and by me, but he is no longer in love with me."

She holds up a hand to stall Steve's reaction, and continues steadily.

"I know this because I am no longer in love with him too. What has happened recently," and she presses a palm to her stomach, "is borne out of our affection still for each other, and the comfort we knew we could seek from the familiarity of that affection. I'll always care for Daniel, Commander, and I think it is time I made the right decisions, for myself and for him."

She stops to make sure she has his undivided attention, and he swallows, but nods briskly at her.

"Daniel has been in love with someone else for a long time now, but now he thinks he has lost his chance entirely, because the person will no longer hear him. I have never seen him this singularly distraught, and this determined to pretend otherwise. I think we both know that the person loves him too, but thinks he is doing the right thing for Daniel's happiness by staying away. Or maybe he isn't hearing what Danny isn't saying, or even what he is."

Rachel's eyes are hard, not with anger but with intent, and Steve sees the woman Danny must have fallen in love with all those years ago, and sees her fear and selflessness.

"Thank you," he says, and can speak no more.

* * *

Half an hour after Rachel and Grace leave for the hotel that they are temporarily calling home, Steve finds himself pacing a hole into his hardwood floors. Jenna had taken one look at him after he had emerged from the kitchen and promptly offered to drive Rachel and Grace back. Ten minutes later, after he had taken to pacing, Kono had rolled her eyes and beat a similarly hasty retreat, citing the North Shore and perfect incoming gale weather as reasons. And it seems she is right, because the skies are now dimly overcast, and Steve can just pick out the beginnings of thunder in the distance.

"You are an idiot," Catherine informs him as she heads to the door, her perfume warm in the air. She is on her way to a lunch date, with the mystery man who she had laughingly refused to speak of the last time she had been with Steve. From the loose curls in her hair and the smoky eye shadow darkening her eyes, it seems as though she has gotten her act together quicker than Steve, and he cannot in good honesty say that he is surprised. Cat lingers by the door now to frown at him, heels in one hand. She looks almost too good for the approaching thunderstorm, and Steve has to grin ruefully at the thought that she had never really made that much effort for him. But then again, he had been equally flippant about their arrangement, so when he smiles now at her, it is with fondness and sincere pleasure at her happiness. She blinks at him in surprise, but then grins back, says "idiot" again, and then escapes out the door.

The house, so full only a half hour ago, is now silent and still again, with Steve in the front and his friendly warden out back, suspiciously and conveniently engrossed in a book on the hammock. He listens a moment to the quiet, and then makes up his mind so quickly that the decision must always have been just a reach away. He doesn't look out to the lanai and to Tristan, because he feels guilt-ridden but unwilling to reconsider his plan. He snatches up the keys to his truck, finds them exactly where he had left them many days ago, and leaves the house at a run. He is so intent on his objective, and on _Danny_ , that it is only after he's behind the wheel, key in the ignition, that he realizes he is blocked in on the driveway. He raises his gaze to the windscreen, and feels his heart stop when the glint of the silver Camaro greets him.

Danny stares at him steadily from his own car, and Steve doesn't look away, his hands tight on the steering wheel. He watches as Danny runs a hand over his hair, and feels a rush of affection wash him adrift at that too familiar gesture. Danny doesn't take his eyes off him as he gets out of the Camaro, and Steve see the tension around his brow as he draws nearer, and he forces himself to loosen his grip around the wheel when Danny raps at his window.

"You had better not be on your way out," Danny growls as soon as the window dividing them is rolled down and out of the way.

Steve doesn't reply, just looks his fill after nearly two weeks of absence, and Danny's eyes darken with fury at his irresponsiveness.

"Do you not understand what house arrest means, Steven? Or do you still think that you have _carte blanche_? Because full immunity and means or not, there is nothing that will stop your ass from being thrown back into jail for your stupidity! Or do you think the law does not apply to you, is that it? You know what – "

"Danny," he says, hoarse, but it goes unheard as his partner continues to shout, his fingers curled tightly around the window pane, as though it would allow him to stop Steve from peeling out of that driveway.

"– I should just go ahead and arrest you, and save the good men of HPD the trouble. And don't think I won't, you schmuck, because –"

"Danny!"

Danny stops, his body shuddering with the angry breaths he is drawing, and then asks sharply, sarcastically, "And what the fuck would be so important that it necessitates your violation of the law, Steven?"

"You," he says, and hates how the word comes out broken and desperate.

Danny just stares, his mouth still open from his interrupted rant, and on another occasion, Steve might feel proud of himself for successfully shocking Danny Williams into silence.

"You –" Danny punctuates the word with flailing limbs, "will you just get out here already?"

He obediently climbs out of the car, and is immediately pressed up against it, Danny crowding impossibly into his space. He stills, and clenches his fists by his side to prevent reaching for Danny, but the watchfulness in Danny's eyes tells him he knows anyway.

"You are such a goof, you know that?"

Danny presses in even further, and there is a challenge now in his gaze. When he licks at his lips, Steve thinks _fuck it_ , and reaches that short distance to pull Danny flush against him. He tucks his cheek against Danny's hair and breathes, and feels Danny shaking even as he reaches around him to hold tight.

"Rachel called me," Danny mumbles into his neck, raising goose bumps that makes Steve shiver, a long and meaningful tremble against the length of Danny's body, such that when Danny speaks again, his words come out slightly breathless.

"She told me that you didn't correct her when she uh," Steve can hear the blush in Danny's verbal trip, "implied that you cared for me."

Steve pulls away enough to look Danny in the face, says "I didn't correct her when she said I loved you," and watches Danny's blue eyes burn sable, and leans in to take his mouth.

The kiss is hard immediately, having eluded them both for so long, and them having believed it has missed them by. Danny licks into his mouth, all wet heat and intent, and when their tongues curl against each other, moans, and hauls Steve even closer by the front of his shirt. Steve gentles the kiss when the stutter of Danny's chest beneath his open palm reminds him of their mutual need of oxygen, and smoothes Danny's kiss-swollen lower lip with sweeps of his tongue, before pressing kisses up the slope of Danny's jaw. Danny tilts his head obligingly, and Steve plays on his easy pliancy to nudge his legs open, and to hitch a thigh between Danny's. He pushes upwards lightly, brushing a fleeting line along Danny's crotch, and is rewarded with a choked moan.

"Inside," he murmurs against Danny's ear, brushing the hair off his nape to suck a kiss onto the tender skin, and he means the word to be a question and an invitation both.

Danny swallows and Steve watches the movement of his throat greedily, now that he can, now that he can put a name to this thing aching in his chest, and this man who wants him enough to stay. He must have been too transparent in his gaze, because Danny's lust scorched eyes lighten just that bit, and he kisses him sweetly, and in his tenderness is his answer, and his promise to stay forever.

"Only if you promise me breakfast," Danny murmurs belatedly, and Steve laughs.

"I don't think I was propositioning you, Detective Williams," he teases, and Danny's only reply is to look significantly down his body, his gaze resting heavy and proprietary on the bulge in his cargoes.

"Let us just say I am good at detecting, shall we?"

Steve guides Danny's hand between his legs, leans in enough to whisper "I think the evidence needs closer examination, Detective."

For all of Danny's complaints about men who think they are smooth, the hitch in his breathing tells another story, as do the way he allows himself to be led into the house. He slides his hands up the back of Steve's polo when the door is closed behind them, the cars left purring and forgotten out in the drive. Steve ducks his head, chases Danny's laughing mouth, and smiles against it in fond triumph when he makes the capture. Danny is sweet now, sucking Steve's lower lip into his mouth, kissing slow and languid, his hands roaming down Steve's back, against skin and cloth.

Steve is a breath away from pushing Danny to the ground and climbing on top of him when a cough from the direction of the kitchen causes Danny to freeze, and then pull away. He rests a hand on the small of Danny's back, keeps him close even as they turn to face Tristan, who is very much amused.

"I shall just go for a swim, alright? A few kilometres out, so I won't be back for an hour at least."

By his side, Danny winces, and turns a red, reproachful face to Steve, who, heaven help him, falls in love that much more.

Tristan smirks at them more, and then turns to excuse himself. He whips back three steps later, fixes Steve with a shit-eating grin, and informs him _l'eau est un bon isolant contre le bruit, aors vous pouvez vous lâcher_.

He rolls his eyes, and when Tristan has laughed his way out of the room, turns back to address Danny's insistent poking of his shoulder. He catches Danny's finger when he raises it again, and pulls lightly so that they are holding hands. Danny rolls his eyes, but curls his fingers warmly in Steve's palm, and mutters _yeah yeah_ when Steve grins at him dopily.

"What did he say?"

"He wants us to know that water provides great insulation against sound, and invites us to go at it."

Danny groans, but Steve doesn't give him any chance to reply, merely tugs lightly on his tie and makes for the staircase.

"I think we should take his suggestion, don't you?"

He punctuates his question by pulling his shirt up and over his head, and walks backwards up the stairs. He tracks the movement of Danny's gaze as it passes over his abs and lingers on his tattoos, and feels the burn of want in his throat when Danny's tongue darts out to lick pinkly at his lips. He had been half hard since Danny had pushed him up against his truck earlier, and his cock throbs now from the weight of Danny's appreciative gaze, and from the memory of Danny's hand cupped around it. He steps a few more steps up the stairs, allows his hand to wander down to the button of his fly, and pops it as Danny's bright blue eyes darken into a tumultuous hue. He isn't kept waiting long, because Danny makes a noise between a whine and a growl, and bounds up the stairs to him, battling his hand away as he replaces it with eager fingers, his lips pressed hot and needy to Steve's. They make it into the bedroom in this manner, Danny's clever fingers having conquered the metal teeth of Steve's zip fly, and Steve pulling impatiently at Danny's damn tie. They break apart long enough to pant, and Danny steps away from Steve's reach, fingers sliding between the buttons of his shirt.

Steve sinks down onto the bed and watches, because Danny clearly means this as a show, and feels himself harden impossibly, the barest hint of a smirk gracing Danny's face burning a trail through him. Danny lets his shirt hang undone, and reaches slowly to loosen his tie, caressing the length of the silk suggestively enough to make Steve moan. Rewarded with the auditory proof of Steve's desire, Danny flushes, and his trousers and boxers join the pile of clothes at his feet in telltale rapidity. When he is finally fully naked, he stands before Steve unashamedly, his cock a familiar pressure against his stomach, already smearing a wet line.

Steve looks and _looks_ , and his eyes scorch a little too brightly, and Danny understands.

He drops to his knees between Steve's legs, brushes a warm palm against Steve's cheek, and whispers _all yours, and only yours_. Steve closes his eyes and swallows, and Danny bumps their noses together, wants to say he is sorry, but he knows it isn't what Steve wants or needs from him. Steve seeks his mouth blindly, and they kiss tenderly, their tongues curling together, sliding slickly and reluctant to part.

 _I love you_ , Steve says when they draw apart, and Danny's only answer is to guide Steve's right hand to the space above his own chest, and to gift the pounding of his heart as an answer. When Steve pulls him into his bed, and sprawls over him like a blanket, Danny knows that Steve has understood, and if he turns suspiciously moist eyes to Steve, nobody else needs to know.

Between the both of them, they pull at and kick Steve's cargoes from him, and Danny is amused and aroused both to find that Steve has gone commando. He takes Steve in hand, and there is so much he wants to do to this man that he doesn't know where to begin. Steve chokes on a breathless moan when Danny rubs a thumb over his wet cockhead, presses lightly on the slit, and arches up to suck a kiss under his collarbone.

"Danny," he groans, his head hanging low.

"I want – I want to open myself up for you, make myself so wet, take you in so deep you'll feel me in your bones forever – you would like that, wouldn't you? You can fuck into me, put me away wet and willing, leave your place – "

"Fuck, Steve," he can only moan in response, "yes – yes –"

"Another time," Steve promises, and reaches between them to bring their cocks flush together, tugging one, two, three times before he comes, and Danny follows close behind with a shout.

He rolls off of Danny, his arms protesting, and Danny immediately curls on his side, into Steve's body heat, pressing a shaky kiss to Steve's heart. He looks up to see Steve watching him, his eyes luminous with affection, and wants to blush.

"My goof," he says instead, nestling closer and tangling their legs together, and Steve smiles against his mouth, because yes, this is the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Richard Siken's poem, "Beautiful Beast". This is the first time in a long time I've written outside the HP fandom, so all and any comments would be welcomed and loved.
> 
> (Also, a thank you to the readers who pointed out my failed French, and for suggesting corrections!)


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